Till Death Do Us Part
by Neferit
Summary: Loneliness, sneers and not a single friendly face. This certainly wasn't what he thought his life would be like, when he left Shire. WARNING: mentions of suicide of main character. Kink meme inspired.


**A/N:** Written for a prompt over at hobbit kink meme:

_I'm imagining an AU where Bilbo and Thorin have an arranged marriage via some circumstances somehow where Bilbo goes to live with Thorin in an Erebor that was never attacked by Smaug. Bilbo came with the thoughts they would compromise and be civil, if not happy, and he'd be allowed to cook and garden like any proper Hobbit would, and all would be well (with time)._  
_Instead, arrogant!Thorin is displeased with the match his father and grandfather approved of, and refuses to compromise in any of his ways or learn any Hobbit traditions reguarding marriage or daily life, and refuses to let Bilbo, who married into a royal line, do peasant things like cook or clean or grown his own things, and basically treats Bilbo as an unwanted guest in his home. _  
_Dwarven life is much different than Hobbit life, like living in a mountain with barely any sunlight or fresh air or warmth, and eventually the culture shock becomes too much for Bilbo to handle. Meanwhile the Dwarves don't notice the changed behavior, and don't think much is wrong, and Bilbo is alone, emotionally and physically._  
_Bilbo kills himself._

And this one didn't have her heart broken enough lately, so here she is. Oh, and there actually is kind of a twist in the end of the story – hope you do not mind, OP!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, but my cup of tea and box of paer tissues.

* * *

**Till Death Do Us Part**

Bilbo was really trying his best to at least partially fit into the society he had been married into, like trying to read up more about their customs, and what they were like.

Dwarves, or dwarrows, as they called themselves, were of taller stature than hobbits, more robust as well, and prided themselves at having elaborate hairstyles and beards. Him having his rather short hair, and no beard to speak of had been something what already damned him in the eyes of dwarven people, at least what he got from the way they interacted (or rather, _didn't interacted_) with him.

Sighing, he called for the raven assigned to his correspondence, Feather, as he called him - it was the smallest raven in the whole mountain, and when he was presented to him as his courier, he could feel the smirks of the dwarves, who thought he will see it as a slap in the face. In fact, Feather liked his new master, and would do his best to carry his messages anywhere, as both of them had been outsiders in this mountain. While the bird was ruffling his feathers, Bilbo set his thoughts about the message he wanted to send to his friend, Viola, who had to remain in Shire, no matter how much she protested she accompanies him - the dwarves prohibited her from joining his company, saying it would be inappropriate for an unmarried woman to be part of it, and so she was stuck in Shire and he was stuck in Erebor, both of them alone, and hanging for dear life for a letter from the other one.

_Viola,_

_it had been quite some time since we last spoke, eh? Well, to tell the truth, I do not think I could miss you any more than I already do. Lonely Mountain, or Erebor, is a rather sad place; huge, but dark, with absolutely no flowers or trees - but if you were after gems, gold and iron, you would be at exactly the right place. The dwarves themselves seem to be rather wary of me, with my beardless face and short hair, and since I do not know the language they tend to speak in my presence, it's a rather lonely existence here as well. I would never have thought I would miss arguing with Lobelia and Otho, but here am I, wishing for any kind of interaction, since not even my husband could be bothered to spend more time with me._

_Well, this definitely got depressed fairly quickly, didn't it? You better respond quickly, and add all the juicy gossip you can get your hands o!_

_Yours,_

_Bilbo._

Calling to Feather, he caressed the bird before letting him on his way. Hopefully Viola will respond quickly.

**-o.O.o-**

True to their friendship, when Feather returned, he was carrying a parchment covered by small letters, so bigger chunk of text would fit on it. It was Viola's writing, ad in those precious lines were the latest happenings in the whole of Shire. Viola also managed to fit a small picture of Lobelia' face when he told her that no, Bag End is still not going to be hers and Otho's and Bilbo was laughing over that one for several minutes, even if his laughter sounded weird and awkward even to his own ears now.

She also wrote several questions of her own, asking about what his husband actually is like, what about dwarven cooking, and really, do they not have any flowers there?

He decided to let Feather rest for several days, and wrote the letter during the time. He only wished Viola was there, so they could actually talk, and not be all that alone.

**-o.O.o-**

So, today he managed to make idiot out of himself when he asked what the thing he was eating was. Obviously, he managed to insult the cook, who prided himself of being able to cook everything on the world, and who tried some presumably hobbit recipe in turn as well. Was it really Bilbo's fault that the cook obviously decided to dwarf-ify the hobbit recipe into something unrecognizable?

At least Viola's letter waited for him in his quarters. Quarters, that seemed entirely too big for only one lonely hobbit.

**-o.O.o-**

Viola being Viola, responded as quickly as was ravenly possible, Bilbo thought fondly. She asked him to about the elves (_'aren't there supposed to be some along the way to Erebor?'_), and the Men living in the Laketown, wishing to know more of them – which, Bilbo thought, had been curiosity unbefitting a hobbit.

But he did his best, and when he was able, talked to the few Men he managed to meet in Erebor, as they went there for some diplomatic things all the time.

He liked especially one of them; tall ad dark-haired, with a bow around his shoulders. Bard the Bowman, he said his name was, and in the short time here and there they were allowed to speak, they would trade stories about their families.

Viola would definitely enjoy knowing that Bilbo managed to find a friend.

But, as soon as his letter had been sent, his husband, no less, stormed into his rooms and demanded to know what that was supposed to mean – Prince's Consort spending time with someone so bellow him.

He was prohibited from seeking Bard's company, and that thought stabbed despairingly at his heart.

**-o.O.o-**

He thought that he might have been given reprieve in his loneliness when elven delegation, together with elven Price, made their way to Lonely Mountain. The elves sure seemed surprised to see a hobbit of all possible people living in a mountain, and he enjoyed their company to its fullest, asking them about the forests, and bird, and, well, basically _everything_ green.

The Prince, Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, had been very pleasant to talk to, sincerely curious about the hobbit and the Shire.

But as soon as they left, he had ben lectured for a very long time to not be seen laughing in company of _elves_ ever again.

As if he would have anyone else to laugh with anyway.

**-o.O.o-**

For several weeks he had been barely able to even leave his rooms - but then Viola sent him a small, feather-light sack instead of a letter and he felt himself smiling again. "Do you know what these are?" he shook the small sack at the raven. "Those are seeds of flowers of Shire!"

He was so very happy that he had something from home to remind him of the greenery of his homeland. Right next day he would go outside and plant them.

The plan, as nearly everything in this place, did not work quite the way he wanted. When he managed to create a small flowerbed on the more guarded part of the mountainside and started to plant the precious seed, he was nearly dragged away by his husband's bodyguard, the disapproving husband right next to him.

"We do not just dig in the dirt," Thorin sneered at him as he was – for lack of nicer sounding word – _disposed of_ at his rooms.

As the door slammed after the dwarves, Bilbo sighed deeply, the sorrow bubbling up from the bottom of his whole being. "And husbands do spend time together, just so you know," he whispered brokenly, as tears started flowing down his cheeks.

This certainly wasn't what he thought his life would be like, when he left Shire.

**-o.O.o-**

Viola sounded positively outraged in her letter afterwards – Bilbo had to force his smile down, as he was reading it during the rare mealtime with his new 'family', and if anything could be said about them, lively and joyous were not words he would use to describe those affairs.

He always felt their eyes at him, judging and disapproving, and today was no exception.

"You are not wearing the shoes you were given as a wedding gift," said the King, Thror, disapprovingly. He looked at his feet – I his hobbit opinion they were clean, the hair nicely trimmed, s what was the fuss about? It wasn't as if it were terribly cold in the mountain, or as if he were moving over anything sharp, so that his feet would need any extra protection.

"We hobbits…" he started, only to be interrupted by Thorin, who once again glared at him. "We do not care about what you hobbits," he snapped. "Here you live among the dwarves and we wear shoes. And so will you."

The shoes were forced on him from that day, and when he complained that the shoes are pulling at the hair at his feet, the said hair got shaved, for no other reason than because the King ordered it, to make sure that husband of his grandson was finally finished with complaints.

That night, Bilbo cried through the whole night, the shame of being forced to wear shoes in his own house, together with his feet been shaved, not allowing him to sleep.

**-o.O.o-**

Bilbo didn't notice that the letters he was sending to Viola took shorter and shorter time to arrive there and back. In truth, lately Bilbo didn't notice much at all; the world reduced bouts of sadness and shame.

He wrote about the despair he felt to Viola, and when he received the reply, 'we are coming to Erebor to get you back', he just smiled sadly.

Even if Viola nocked on the door tomorrow, he thought, as he eyed the small vial of inconspicuous liquid, he would still be too late.

**-o.O.o-**

Thain of the Shire, Fortinbras Took, didn't think anything bad about the political match he helped to make; his grandnephew Bilbo and the Prince Thorin of Erebor. True, he missed Bilbo, he was his family after all, but political matches were political matches, and when it comes to forging alliances, some sacrifices just have to be made.

He just didn't realize what exactly will be the sacrifice in this case.

When Viola, Bilbo's childhood friend, first told him about the weird feeling she got from the dwarven delegation, he didn't really pay it much attention. All ladies were like that, in his opinion, too fond of exaggerating with no real proof. To him, the delegation seemed rather strict, but such were the ways of dwarven folk he was told. However, she kept on returning to speak to him about Bilbo and his political marriage, after every letter she received from her friend, and she was getting increasingly agitated - and after all this time, some of the distress jumped at him as well.

"We will go to Erebor and check on Bilbo," he decided, making Viola squee with joy at the opportunity to see Bilbo again - she immediately run to her home to pack, while he followed the suit at much more dignified pace while calling up on more hobbits, who felt adventurous (mostly his family members, Tooks).

He certainly didn't expect Erebor to be such austere and place.

That was the first moment he started to feel doubt about the match - the dwarves painted the kingdom Under Mountain in much prettier colours. The dwarves also looked down their nose at them, and he felt himself bristle at some of the underhanded insults he received. He was in meeting with King and the Princes, Thorin being among them, the Men of Laketown ad Elves of Mirkwood, when he heard some strange commotion, Viola's voice part of the noise.

"You will unhand me, _master dwarf_, or I'll make you unhand me!" she yelled, and in next moment, she was bursting into the room, the other hobbits following after her.

"How could you!" she screamed at the dwarven royalty. "You promised to cherish him - _this_ is how you do it between dwarves?!"

That was when Thain realized what was so very wrong about the whole situation. His nephews were carrying something, _someone_, who had been unnaturally still.

Bilbo.

He was pale, unmoving, and when Thain looked closer at his nephew, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes, together with the unnatural paleness. "Bilbo," he whispered brokenly, reaching to touch Bilbo's cheek. He jerked when he noticed another thing about Bilbo. He was wearing boots. Inside his own house.

"That is not all," whispered Viola brokenly. "His feet are shaved as well."

Anger rising inside of him, Thain turned on his heel. "You didn't," he growled at scowling Prince Thorin. The dwarf didn't even have the decency to look shocked - for a moment it looked to Thain's eyes that he's actually glad his husband committed suicide. And Thain started to see red.

"Meriadoc!" he barked, in a tone so very unlike him that the hobbit, functioning like scribe, jumped at his place. "Take out the marriage contract between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin, and read the conditions of the whole contract."

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Thrain, while Fortinbras ust stared at him, not moving a single muscle, daring himself not to jump at the dwarf. When Meriadoc finally pulled up the treaty, Fortinbras just took it and read it quietly, the Elves and Me looking between the Thain, the dwarven King and the motionless body of Consort they all had the opportunity to meet only once, before the dwarves bared them of his company.

After a short time Fortinbras looked up from the parchment, rolled it up again ad threw it into the nearest fire. "How dare you!" roared one of the dwarves, umping to the fireplace, only to see the last of the parchment to be devoured by the flames.

"As the treaty had been broken by the other side, the Hobbits of the Shire are withdrawing the contract with immediate effect," he said with calmness he didn't really feel. "Never again shall here be any friendship between us and the dwarves of Erebor, since they forced one of our own to his death with their neglect."

He turned his back on the dwarves, kneeling down to gather the body of his nephew into his arms, unminding the outraged shouts of the dwarves, as the other hobbits followed after him – soon joined by Men and Elves.

"This whole place is cursed," said Viola quietly at his side and Fortinbras only nodded.

**-o.O.o-**

After Hobbits, the Elves of Mirkwood withdrawn their friendship from the dwarves as well; the Men had been slow in actually making a stance when the worst thing all of them could imagine, happened.

A dragon swept upon the mountain; destroying the city of Men and demolishing the kingdom of dwarves, as the place burned in dragon flames, making all of the dwarves flee for their lives.

No one would raise a single hand to help them.


End file.
